Case of the Faceless Men
by Victorian-Gothic
Summary: A growing conspiracy in London brings Holmes to his limits. He needs to learn to work with American detectives, cope with a sick Watson and solve the mystery of the eyes without a face
1. Chapter 1

**Case of the Faceless Men: Chapter One **

**The Inconceivable Happens**

_Being a Reprint from the Reminiscences of John H. Watson, M.D., Late of the Indian Army Medical Department. Now the close friend and chronicler of Mr Sherlock Holmes of Baker Street, London._

_I have often wondered if I should ever bring myself to tell this tale, Holmes has on many an occasion asked me if I was ever going to commit to paper this most singular and in some ways distressing if not peculiar series of events. A task if I am honest that I did not believe I was up to, surely my mere words could never do all that transpired justice._

_And yet as I sit back now and notice amongst my many papers a pair of slightly faded photographs. The first of WJB smartly dressed in his uniform with his "beau" DP stood beside WJB's close childhood friend FS, the second being of Dr AP stood as jovial as always next to WJB's Aunt RL and her new American husband Detective Sergeant ML. A lump comes to my throat as I read the inscription on the back of the picture of the three young men._

_"To Dr John H Watson, the man I wish had been my father who taught me more than anyone ever did about life and proved to me that I was worth saving - I will do you proud sir, love W"_

_I find myself feeling guilty that I have not yet immortalised them all in ink, that I am willing to let them all fade as they surely will with the passing of time, much like these much loved photographs that I was given and still cherish to this very day._

_Eventually I was persuaded both by Holmes and DP to gather together not only my own notes as well as DP's and was even surprised by Holmes adding his own notes and journal on the whole business but to look back on testimonies given at the time by those involved as well as interview those that I could in order to fill in any voids that I discovered._

_My biggest problem now lay in where to begin_

November 1894

I was aware of the acute pain first and foremost, something that I knew all too well having tasted a bullet back when I was in Afghanistan and part of the Army Medical Corp, something I had prayed that I would never feel again.

On instinct I put my hand to my head and felt the all too familiar sticky warmth that was my own blood. Moving my hand I stared at it and its red covering for a moment, slightly puzzled before collapsing in a heap on the ground.

"WATSON!" I heard Holmes cry out as he dashed to my side.

My eyes were already loosing their focus as I fought back the darkness that so wanted to claim me

"Holmes" my voice sounded so weak and was barely audible.

In the distance, I could just make out the noise of a police whistle and a gunshot..followed by the sound of several guns being fired at once. The sound of running footsteps halted not far from where Holmes was kneeling next to me and a voice I should have recognised but at that time could not spoke.

"We got him Mr Holmes..we got the man who shot Dr Watson"

Holmes, cradled me in his arms totally oblivious to what he had just been told "You can't die man...I-I need my Boswell, I n-need my friend" his voice was cracked and choked with a rare emotion that I had never heard before.

Forcing myself to focus, I looked up and instantly wished I hadn't those steely eyes and his hawk like features where a picture of absolute misery and agony. Try as I might I found that my voice would not come and I was unable to reassure and offer comfort my old friend.

_"Oh Holmes..my dear Holmes..my dearest friend...how I wish I could spare you from such pain, but I cannot...but do not be too sad old friend, I will be joining my Mary soon enough"_I thought to myself.

Then the strangest of things happened, I became aware that I was looking down upon the scene and as it became clearer my heart broke at what I witnessed. As I watched the most brilliant man I have ever known break down into a mess of pitiful sobs and such wails of pure anguish.

My attention was drawn away from the scene of my death and towards a Brougham drawn by a pair of grey horses, that had paused briefly to take in the view of the park and the tragedy that had occurred.

This in itself was not peculiar..but the hushed voices or rather the conversation within was

"You see...in order to break Holmes we had to remove his _raison d'etre_, without Watson to help him remain focused he will be easy to sway over to our cause, my lord...a fine addition to your growing army"

"Good, good...but do not under-estimate the sheer vindictive nature of Sherlock Holmes, he will turn his grief into a force so strong...nothing will stand in it's path...I know, I've faced him many, many times"

With that the carriage rattled away and I was left alone, never in all my life have I felt such loneliness, not even the "death" of Holmes or of my beloved Mary could compare to what I was feeling at that moment in time, in truth it was as if time itself was slowing down.

Was this what death was like?

Suddenly something pulled at my very being and I found myself being moved onto a stretcher, every fibre of my body ached and try as I might I couldn't move nor utter a word to let Holmes my dear Sherlock Holmes know of what I had overheard, that some fiends were plotting against him and that all this was nothing more than means to and end.

"Careful, lads...be gentle with Dr Watson" the new voice paused and the last thing I heard was "Don't you worry none Mr Holmes...we have some excellent surgeons at the London, if anyone can save him..they can"

With those words echoing in my ears, the miasma of unconsciousness pulled me under and the world for me at least went as black and as silent as the grave.


	2. Chapter 2

**Case of the Faceless Men: Chapter Two**

**A Waiting Game**

As told by Sherlock Holmes of 221B Baker Street

_I do hope that the readers will forgive my lack of stylised romanticism that my dear friend and colleague Dr Watson is so good at. I am a man of few words but as I sit here, looking over at his comatose form waiting for some miracle to occur. I find myself taking up the pen in a vain hope that sharing this ordeal with you will make the passing of time so much more bearable. - SH_

My mind raced as I heard Watson call out my name in shock, I had heard the gunshot and turning to see him fall to the ground I feared the worst. And as I knelt beside his body and cradled him in my arms I felt my heart sink for a moment before my mind started to wonder, who would be capable of shooting him, why shoot Watson, he had never hurt anyone.

I needed to talk to the man responsible for such a vile and foolish deed.

So many questions and so little information...of all the places to attack either of us, why here in this park practically surrounded by police, armed police at that since we were all looking out for a rather dangerous man, a disgraced ex soldier and pugilist whose name I will not give at present.

But I was to be denied this line of enquiry for as he fled the scene he fired at what he must have believed to have been unarmed officers only for them to cut him down in a hail of bullets. Most of them had heard the cry from the park and Watson was always well liked amongst the lower ranks of the constabulary.

I looked down at my friend and closest ally and felt a sense of loss far greater than when he had first left me for his marriage to Mary, part of me began to resign myself to a life solitude and yet as I held John Watson in my arms I could see that he was fighting this terrible wound with all the might he had. I could not give him words of encouragement or confess how much I cared for him for all that would come forth from my lips were the almost animal like howls of grief and despair.

Such a more courageous man I have never known, Watson never once had refused to stand by my side nor was he ever above putting himself into danger for the sake of others. Forget my dear readers that I refer to him as my Boswell..he is the rock in my life that holds me steady and our friendship while it may appear to some a little strange if not a too close or familiar, is as deep as a friendship between two people can be without the hindrance of intimacy.

I looked on with a growing sense of uselessness and unease as they moved him carefully onto the stretcher, the nearest hospital was the London and it was to there that we travelled. I refused to leave his side, my hand grasping his..and it pains me to admit that I was afraid that if I should let go I would loose him forever...it was not until a senior doctor and surgeon assured me that they would do all that they could that I relinquished my place at his side.

I could not believe it, even as I paced frantically in the waiting room...I could not believe that Dr Watson had been shot, and this time it was no small matter.

The surgeons had informed me that the operation needed to save his life would take several hours and even if they could remove it, there was no guarantee that Watson would ever regain consciousness for the bullet had struck him on his temple and entered the skull and the force of the blow was so great that it shattered the orbital bones on that side...there was a chance of saving him but it was a very slim one.

This was grim news indeed.

I felt sick as I recalled the blood, torn flesh and the matted hair..death was no mystery to me and I had seen many a corpse but the thought of loosing Watson, my very own Boswell and intimate friend was starting to be too much to bear.

I had often joked about Watsons "hard-headedness" I silently prayed that by some miracle that this was true. While my dear friend had a heart of gold he could at times be stubborner than a mule. He was the one steadying constant in my life and once again it pained me to admit, that I needed he just as much as my other less savoury habits..no if truth be told I needed him and his friendship more-so.

Quietly someone slipped into the waiting room, I sighed as I looked over the darkened street below and stood with my arms folded, gazing at nothing and everything.

"Mycroft, so good of you to come old boy"

"How could I not Sherlock, as soon as the boy arrived at the Club with this terrible news I bid my farewells and came straight here" Mycroft paused "How is Watson...is he?"

"Dead..no, not yet...they have had him in their clutches for what seems like an eternity Mycroft...WHAT ARE THEY DOING TO HIM..to my Boswell" I felt my legs grow weak as I turned to face my older brother "I do not think I can take much more...I cannot loose him"

What little resolve I had left finally escaped me and I slumped, only to find myself held steady in the arms of Mycroft.

"No that will not do...no fainting..Sherlock" I could hardly make out the slightly annoyed voice of my elder brother, he disapproved of weakness in a man much like our father had and my fainting would be most definitely counted as a weakness

The door to the waiting room opened once more and in walked a tired and rather worried looking surgeon, still dressed in his "operating clothes", carrying the stains that informed me the task at hand had not been without some difficulty.

"I'm afraid there is bad new sir...it might be best if you took a seat"

Upon hearing those terrible words I froze and found that my breath would not come..finally I blurted out.

"I prefer to remain standing..if you please"

The surgeon sat, I could tell by his body language that he was greatly troubled and close to exhaustion.

"We did what we could, the bullet was lodged in the actual skull..luckily it hadn't penetrated his brain"

"That is good news" Mycroft interrupted

"But...he is so very weak, I take it he has been rather ill, that his health is not the best"

I exploded in rage "RATHER ILL...that man fought at Maiwand and survived despite the blasted bullets he brought back, and then he fought off enteric fever...can you not see..did you not see his scars..did you, can you not OBSERVE!"

The poor surgeon blanched, he was only young probably not long qualified and did not with the benefit of hindsight deserve my misplaced anger.

"I'm sorry sir...I had no idea"

"Sherlock, this is not the Veterans Hospital...how would they know"

"But it's Watson...Dr John H Watson, how can they not know of him. he is my friend..my only true friend"

"Dr Watson?" the young surgeon asked "The one who writes about Sherlock Ho...oh dear I must look such a fool" the young man blushed a little at the sudden realisation of who he was not only talking to but had operated on.

Mycroft left my side for a brief moment and went to the young surgeon.

"Yes young man..that is Sherlock Holmes of Baker Street..the consulting detective"

Did my ears deceive me...did I hear a touch of pride in my brothers voice.

"And that man you have operated on his non other than Doctor John Hamish Watson, formerly of the Army Medical Dept..the one who writes those somewhat incredulous stories that appear in The Strand about my brothers exploits"

The young surgeon just nodded and smiled nervously as most people tended to when Mycroft had his sights focused totally on them.

"You can go see him in a little while sir, once we have him settled in a private room of course"

Mycroft, nodded his approval "Good lad now what is this bad news"

"Well gentleman...I'm fearful that the good doctor won't regain consciousness"

I shook my head "nonsense of course he will, you do not know Watson like I do, he will fight this and then we will go find those responsible for this heinous crime"

Mycroft looked at me in earnest "But Sherlock, they shot the man responsible I understand from what I have been informed"

I paced and held my hands under my nose as was often my want when deep in thought "A mere pawn old boy, a common footpad and street-thug, why not shoot both of us..he had the chance, why didn't he try and rid the world of Sherlock Holmes...why Watson? Hmm Mycroft"

The young surgeon took the lack of interest in his presence as a cue to leave, quietly closing the door behind him.

"I will admit" Mycroft said as he finally sat in the large chair nearest to my pacing "That the fact that anyone would shoot Watson is indeed puzzling, this case you were helping with..was it especially dangerous?"

"As if you did not already know about what goes on in this city of ours. And to answer your question, not really, Inspector Lestrade had need a hand in finding some ex soldier...who was a sergeant in the Indian Army, a violent thug who is it would appear capable of vanishing into thin air for as soon as we get close he disappears as if by magic"

I looked at my older brother and saw that he was deep in thought

"Either that or local populace and even the local constabulary are afraid of the man...have you a name that you are willing to share with me?"

"I suppose it won't do any harm, his name is Reginald Blood...ah I see you recognised the name...this name is known to you Mycroft?"

Mycroft cast his eyes down for the briefest of moments, betraying the lie he was about to tell me.

"Not at all...while I am privy to all things Governmental I do not know everything and everyone in London Sherlock"

I sat myself opposite him and looked at him with an intensity I usually reserved for questioning suspects.

"Quite the contrary Mycroft, I know from previous experience that you..are a walking encyclopedia in regards many matters..now please tell me what you know"

Mycroft stood, obviously angered by my questioning "I have not the time for this Sherlock, I have no time for your games I have many things that need to be attended to"

"I wonder if Watson's shooting is somehow connected..to this case...it appears far too random an event" I muttered half out-loud as my mind started to assimilate all the information or rather the lack off.

There was a knock on the door and Mycroft took the liberty of opening the door, there on the threshold was a nurse of not more than three and twenty.

"Excuse me sir, but the surgeons and doctors said that you could go see Dr Watson now"

Suddenly all thoughts of what or why flew from my mind and I followed her, eager to see my friend.


	3. Chapter 3

**Case of the Faceless Men: Chapter Three**

**Too many unknowns**

I raced towards the room where John Watson lay only managing to regain my composer as I entered the dimly lit and to me somewhat cold place.

If truth be told it felt as if I had entered the morgue, for his still body with its drained countenance did for some time remind me of that of a corpse, it was only the intermittent and so very shallow rising and falling of his chest that told me my friend was still alive

Alive..Watson I know would not call this state of being as alive, it was barely existing.

The feeling of hopelessness returned and I flopped into the chair that was placed near the bed and just sat staring at him...silently willing him to wake up but he rather stubbornly refused to do so.

Mycroft finally entered the room, talking to some stout gentleman of middle years..the mans very air told me that this was the senior surgeon who had no doubt performed the operation. And someone I was informed by my brother much later was also a member of the Diogenes Club.

"All we can do now Mr Sherlock Holmes, is wait" his voice was quite nasal, with a slight hesitation between each word..the man obviously stammered and still struggled to control it despite his advancing years.

"What are his chances of both survival and awaking up?" I forced myself to ask "Will he still be the same man?"

"I cannot answer that sir...the brain is a delicate thing, and while we are gathering so much knowledge in the field of medical science there are still areas that are cloudy to us" as he rushed out his words I could not help but notice his apparent unease

"John is well respected and I would be loathed to see him suffer unduly..I pray sirs that this matter which is now in the hands of the gods is resolved soon..one way or another, we will of course provide constant care until such time as it is no longer needed"

I raised my eyebrows upon hearing him calling Watson by his first name, of course we both had them just we as any person of breeding often referred to others and each other by their surname, even though we were...no are as familiar as the closest kith and kin. I cannot recall the number of times I've ever called him John..John Watson maybe but John, hardly ever. Distracted by this train of thought, a tangible sign that I was feeling the stress of the situation..both the surgeons and my brothers voice faded into the background.

"SHERLOCK!" boomed my older and less patient brother.

His voice brought me out of my reverie and I looked at him "Yes Mycroft, did you want something?"

"You haven't heard a blasted word both Tobias and I have been saying"

"Sorry old man..I was thinking" I offered up a feeble smile.

Mycroft made his all too familiar harrumphing noise, something he had inherited from our father as sure a sign of any that I was about to be lectured.

"Sherlock, what Tobias was trying to tell you was that Watson will be unconscious for some time and that there is nothing any of us can do until the man regains his senses...if he ever does of course..so there is no point you moping about the place..go home and the hospital will contact you should anything change...it could be hours or even days before the man wakes up"

The surgeon nodded in agreement, funny how, while he is a senior surgeon in his own hospital my brother naturally takes over...and to think he tries to deny that he IS the government.

"I'm staying!" I folded my long legs beneath me "I will stay here with him until he wakes up, it is the least I can do" I thrust up my hand to silence them both "My dear Watson..would do the same for me..he has done the same...I owe him this much"

Mycroft said nothing but nodded, he knew me far too well to argue although going by his intense gaze there was something bothering him.

"But Mr Holmes, it is not possible for you to stay here" complained the surgeon.

"Would you deny a mother from sitting with her ailing child..or a man who sits with his dying wife..I will not leave his side" I stood and paced "I will not be in the way...I just require a more comfortable chair and of course I will need to bring a few things from Baker Street..in order to pass the time"

The surgeon went to protest but Mycroft, stopped him by offering to cover any extra expense that might arise from my being there, to cover the inconvenience that any staff might face as he put it.

This single act of apparent charity on his part sent the proverbial alarm bells ringing, Mycroft HAD to know more than he was saying. Was he offering what my dear Boswell would call "blood money" to cover up what now appeared to be a guilty conscience.

The fact of the matter was still that an otherwise minor thief had fired a gun at near point blank range, and thankfully due to both height difference and lack of any skill had only succeeded in inflicting the most serious of injuries upon my friend rather than killing him out-right. But still my mind could not get around the fact that he had not taken that fraction of a second to re-aim and fire at myself, I was at that point in time a few paces ahead of Watson, deep in conversation with one of the detectives from Scotland Yard and thus an easy target. So this lone gunman had the perfect opportunity to shoot me in the back and yet all he did was fire once at Watson then flee the scene.

Was his firing at the constables an act of defiance or misplaced bravado or worse still was he following orders and what kind of man would willingly put his head inside a noose for another. To whom was this mere ruffian indebted to and how did he know we were there, at that very spot, one that not long before had been searched by London's finest. Theft was not his motive nor could I see why revenge would be, sure Watson would cast an appreciative eye in the direction of a pretty lady but he was never anything less than courteous and gentlemanly towards them regardless of their class or station in life.

No, as I sat looking at my dearest friend I knew that this was a warning, a violent indirect attack upon myself, as if to say "we can hurt you..where-ever and whenever we like". This had to connected to some case I was working on or had worked on recently but which one?

My mind drifted back to when it all occurred, I was as I said a few paces in front of Watson talking with Detective Shiltern a fresh face at Scotland Yard who unfortunately had already fallen into the same old routine of Inspector Lestrade et al. A man who could see and listen so much but rarely observed or heard anything but the most blindingly obvious.

The night itself was quite chilled it had been raining earlier and that was promising to turn once more to sleet or even snow and due to this inclemency in the weather my dear Watson had found that his old injuries were troubling him to the point where he had waved us all on, saying he would catch us up once we had reached our goal...an old abandoned warehouse that was believed to have been the location of the gang that Reginald Blood belonged to.

A place neither Watson or myself were destined to see, for it has reached my ears in the time that I was pacing endlessly up and down the waiting room, that upon the arrival of the police there was an explosion at the warehouse and the whole building was engulfed in flames what is worse is that those officers present were forced to hear and see the men within perish as the building collapsed in on itself, trapping all inside a fiery tomb.

Oblivious to the presence in the of anyone I started walking around Watson's bed, deep in thought as I pieced together bit by bit the events of earlier.

Now where was I, ah yes..

Watson was no more than a dozen or so paces behind the main group which as I stated before consisted of myself, Detective Shiltern and several constables. We were cutting across an area of grass and heading for a little used and thus well hidden gate that led to a lane upon which stood the warehouse in question.

Less than thirty minutes before we had arrived, the police had conducted a search of the park to make sure that neither Blood nor any of his acquaintances were hiding there, so how did they miss this fellow, of course the answer is they hadn't, for he had not been there when the search was conducted.

How fortuitous that both the dark winter evening and the weather had provided him with cover and how maddening it would be to try and make sense of the scene of the crime now, no doubt the entire area is now completely ruined by the mass of flat-footed well intentioned constables.

The man approached without any hesitation otherwise Watson would have been able to defend himself, he then fired a single shot and the miscreant fled, only to fire at the police after he had almost made his escape...WHY do that.

I growled at the foolishness of it all and looked down at Watson, hoping that he was not in any real discomfort for it was hard to tell with his overly pale and sunken features. I had to keep telling myself that he was alive and would pull out of all this, it was then that I noticed I was quite alone in the room with him, both Mycroft and this Tobias fellow having left me alone deep in thought after I realised this I returned to my thoughts.

Watson had yelled my name then had fallen to the ground gravely injured, there is something else, something important, something I am missing...but what is it and why do I think that it is so vital to all this.

Absent-mindedly I lit a cigarette and stared out the window, and let my mind wander once more over the more minor details then it stuck me that the park was dissected by a single lane, one that the more knowledgeable cab-drivers would use when in a hurry or if they wished to avoid the traffic at busier times.

THAT WAS IT.

As I knelt beside Watson, a brougham paused on the lane only briefly before speeding off.

Why did I feel that all this was the start of some terrible nightmare, I had a growing sense of dread..one that I had not felt since.


	4. Chapter 4

**Case of the Faceless Men: Chapter Four**

**A Dream and a Farewell**

The surgeon was so wrong, mere hours turned to days and slowly the days turned into one week then another then another. Time and life for me had all but ground to a standstill and yet I could not move from his side.

Mycroft had been good enough to bring several items from our rooms at Baker Street in order to make life for me a little more bearable but at the same time I hoped and yes, I even prayed that my efforts were not to be in vain.

After the first few days I easily slipped into a rather lazy routine, in the morning I would read the newspapers from cover to cover out-loud to my dear friend, commenting on the news and gossip of the day. Then I took to the various medical books that both Watson owned and ones I had borrowed..I had to learn everything about the human brain in case there was something, anything that I could do that would return him to me. After-all, they did not observe like I did, Watson I knew was slowly coming around to my ways of observation but he would still quite often miss the subtle even it if was after the benefit of hindsight and an explanation blindingly obvious.

Usually all this served to do was hurl my increasingly tormented mind into a pit of despair that thankfully was rescued for the most part by either Mycroft or even Lestrade paying a visit to see if there was any change, Mycroft of course always came bearing food, which I picked at much to his annoyance.

"Sherlock, you must eat" he implored me on more than one occasion and yet I did not hear him saying these words but Watson, "a man cannot live on air" he would chide me if I had gone more than a day when I was deep in thought.

On an evening after everyone had gone and the staff had paid their final visit to check Watsons vital signs, I would pull up a chair as close to the bed as I could and read to him either one of his stirring sea novels or one of my own "penny dreadful's" before finally picking up my violin and playing his favourite melodies until my arms ached.

From time to time, young Shiltern, Lestrade or Bradstreet or even Gregson would visit asking for advice or if I would assist them in a difficult case. They had even took to bringing letters addressed to me from Baker Street from possible clients.

The answer to them all was the same...No and the letters they brought with them remained unopened and ignored.

At first my refusals did not bother me, my place to me was at Watson's side but by the end of the third week it had started to gnaw at me...how many liars, blackmailers, thieves, murderers were escaping justice because I refused to do what I was made for. How many innocent people were hurting or being hurt due to me neglecting my duty.

Then one night I dreamt and it was that dream that shook me from this malaise that I was allowing myself to fall under and my saviour none other than the man that lay before me...the man I was so desperately trying to save..my very own Boswell.

It is absurd now looking back at it how I was reacting to the whole situation, Mycroft had inadvertently brought over one of Watson's journals of my adventures and though it lain there a full week untouched in the end I had started to read through it, smiling at how he described in his usual flowing prose how pretty the young lady looked and yet he would totally skip over the lengths to which I went to work out the most vital of things.

I turned to the very back of the journal and began to write, knowing full well that I could not do this terrible affair or him justice and it is those words that you read now.

That night I fell asleep at the table, pen in hand just like I had seen Watson do so many times before only he was not there to place a travel throw over my shoulders. No he did something much more special...he entered my dream.

_I found myself in a room so large, so vast that I could not see the walls nor the ceiling above me and I was surrounded by pile upon pile of newspapers and books, maps and charts. Boxes and chests, bookcase all crammed and overflowing with data and words. All I knew that somewhere amongst all this was the key to bringing Watson home and that I had to find it..and yet as I searched I began to notice that things were slowly vanishing._

_This was a race against time, one that I could not fail._

_I searched frantically, diving literally into mountains of paper..only to find them vanish as I held them. Tears and a multitude of cuts started to form and I cried out his name, only to have an all too familiar hand place itself on my shoulder._

_"It's OK Holmes, you don't have to do this...I know you are concerned for me but there is nothing old boy that you can do"_

_There before me was John Watson, looking remarkably well and slightly odd due to the fact that he was stood halfway in a pile of books...this told me of course that I was dreaming and for once I allowed myself to drift along in this dream as bitter-sweet as it was._

_The ghost or was it memory of Watson sat down and look at me and smiled._

_"You need to go do your work and not spend your time here, it is unhealthy for you, I see you are not taking care of yourself, when was the last time you went outside?"_

_"But, my dear fellow" I interrupted "I cannot leave you, what if you need me" I pleaded._

_He said nothing but smiled a slightly distant smile and stood up and turned away, hobbling just as I remembered._

_"There is nothing you can do Holmes, I will either wake up when I am ready or I will finally be at peace and no longer haunted by memories, go back to Baker Street Holmes..get some sleep and remember to eat, it is no use me recovering only to find you have worried yourself to death or worse fallen into one of your dark moods"_

_Funny, how even in my very own dreams he is concerned not for himself but for me._

_"I miss you old boy" I felt my lip tremble and on instinct I closed my eyes fighting back the tears that threatened to betray me._

_What he did next was so him, Watson did not speak he just turned, smiled then winked and touched his forehead with his cane before vanishing leaving me alone in a now empty room._

My sleep after that was restful to the point that if I did not know better I would have sworn that I had been given a sleeping draft and I was only woken by a rather vigorous shaking.

"Sherlock, wake up man" Mycroft spoke, as his hand gripped my shoulder.

"Watson?" I sat bolt upright and looked around then sighed as my eyes saw that he was still laying motionless.

"I have work for you Sherlock, and your refusal is not an option" Mycrofts tone was commanding to say the least.

I just nodded my assent and stood, I thought for a moment of telling him what I had seen and heard but what had I seen really. The mind is not to be trusted I have always believed when it is hindered by unchecked emotion. "Give me a few minutes please and could you send in the matron..I need to leave instructions with her".

Mycroft smiled and left me to find the nurse in charge.

I sat on the edge of the bed by his legs, "Watson, I am having to go out..duty calls and all that but I will call on you as much as I can and I swear to get them to finish reading that book of yours to you and once you are back on your feet and home again..we will get to the bottom of all this, that you have my word on"

Again, my eyes searched his countenance for some sign of improvement, but there was nothing for three long weeks, there had been no change... it was dare I say it as if he was frozen in time, a living statue surely anything had to be better than this, even death.

The door to the room opened and in walked the rather stern yet motherly looking senior nurse.

"Mr Holmes!" she exclaimed

"You are well aware that you are not allowed to sit on the bed, we have given you much leeway since John was brought here and we have even put up with you smoking in his room...when there are signs that clearly state that you should not as for your incessant playing of your violin at ungodly hours" her voice softened "Your dedication to him is quite admirable sir but you must continue your own life least two lives be lost due to this most appalling tragedy"

I looked at her, standing as I spoke "You are right Matron...Goodrum isn't it?"

She nodded and gave a slight smile "You asked for me Mr Holmes?"

"You and the other staff will no doubt be pleased to hear that I am finally leaving the good Doctor in your capable hands for I am returning to Baker Street, life as you say must go on and I need to ask of you a favour my dear lady" I picked up the much loved novel and walked over to her "Would you please read a few pages of this to him on an evening, it was his wont to do so, never could see the appeal myself and I like to think that he would like to hear the rest of the tale"

Matron Goodrum took the book from my hands and patted them "Of course I will sir, I used to read to my own husband all those long nights while he was sick before he passed away". For a moment she looked so very frail before once more taking on that cold almost stone like visage that both staff and patient in the Royal London knew so well.

"It will be an honour for me to do this, Doctor Watson is such a kind gentleman, anything I can do to help him, especially after he assisted my own family after my George died"

Yet again I had found another hitherto hidden depth to John Watson, I was beginning to think that I only knew a shadow of the man, that while he was seemingly transparent and so easy to read he was in fact so much more than just my friend and partner.

We had not long finished our conversation when several familiar faces peered around the open door, Mycroft had enlisted the help of my Baker Street Irregulars and the look of consternation on the face of the matron as those grimy faced street-arabs filed in was worth the look I received as I let an errant chuckle escape my lips

"REALLY...Mr Holmes, I must protest at this...these boys are filthy...who knows what germs they are bringing into the hospital and into this room"

Mycroft Holmes was a mere step behind them "Don't you have work to do sister" his voice was cold and his tone was if he was trying to intimidate the dear lady.

"I am doing my work sir!" she scolded him and closed the gap between them both

"I will hold you personally responsible should anything untoward happen due to these boys being here"

I could not believe my eyes, Mycroft Holmes a man known to send senior ministers of Government scurrying away fearful was actually trying to avoid the rather direct gaze that Matron Goodrum had fixed on him.

"These sir are MY wards..and I am in charge here not you now the sooner you and these young lads make themselves scarce the better it will be for YOU...I have to make my rounds...I DO NOT expect to see them or you in this room when I return. Do you understand me Sir?"

My poor brother looked down and spoke in a much softer tone "Yes ma'am"

"Good man, now if you will excuse me"

With that she left the stunned Mycroft and the visibly nervous Irregulars alone but not before she gave me a conspiratorial wink as she closed the door behind herself.

"A fine powerful woman" I commented.

"Frightening harridan" came Mycrofts reply "I have a carriage waiting for us, I thought it best to utilise these youngsters to help move your belongings into it and thus take you back to Baker Street and sanity"

Ignoring my older brother, I instructed the young urchins and watched over them as they busied themselves with packing what few items I had Mycroft fetch for me only intervening when one of them went to pack my beloved violin.

"This I will carry myself, thank you Carl"

With everything packed and being ferried to the awaiting carriage I nodded to Mycroft as he followed my Irregulars, giving them constant instruction as to how they should carry my few items.

"Goodbye old friend, I will pop in tomorrow I promise"

Picking up my violin I took one last look at John Watson and closed the door quietly behind me.


	5. Chapter 5

**Case of the Faceless Men: Chapter Five**

**A Promise broken and an Introduction**

In fact I did not visit him the next day as I had promised nor the day after that, a full ten days went by before I finally had the time or the nerve if I am honest to visit Watson.

My work as over the years had made me many connections with the various police forces throughout the civilised world and it was via Wilson Hargreave of the New York Police Bureau and my brother of course that this latest criminal conundrum was introduced to me.

The art of deduction and the new field of forensic science were literally exploding as new ways and methods came to light, and the police and doctors of Scotland Yard were amongst the leaders in those very sciences. I am of course too humble a man to mention my own considerable advances in those fields and the fact that I saw the more younger fresh faced detectives starting to use my methods brought me its own reward. And while they proved to be apt pupils they did not have the benefit of my years of experience so I always would remain the master.

And thus Hargreave sort to kill two birds with one stone, he sent over two of his most trusted and capable men. One Albert Percival, a police doctor and coroner with a penchant for forensics who was to exchange knowledge with those at Scotland Yard and the other what he described as a most singular detective who's unfaltering dedication to the task at hand would often drive those who dared to work with him to distraction. It was getting well known within what was termed the "criminal underworld" of New York and surrounding areas that should Detective Sergeant Mark Lucas set his sights on you that your days as a free man were limited. Wilson Hargreave described the man as a human bloodhound with an obsessive streak that in his opinion rival my own.

This observation by Hargeave about myself made me chuckle and I reflected on the many occasions that Watson had called me a human machine, all brain and no heart. I do have a heart, just unlike Watson who finds the joys in a pretty lady or a beautiful sunset and other frivolities. I live for the hunt, the thrill of discovering the unknown, the unravelling of mysteries and the bringing of those that cause harm to justice should it be deemed necessary.

Yes I am all too aware that at times I have played the role of judge, jury and in some ways executioner.

Ah..but I am allowing myself to wander from this task..I do hope the readers of this tale will forgive me, I am unaccustomed to revealing so much of myself and of my inner most thoughts.

As I was saying, so it was Mycroft that informed me of the upcoming arrival of these two Americans, at first it puzzled me as to why he and not say Lestrade etc. was passing on the details since it was wholly a police matter or so I believed at the time.

Then I was handed a rather small dossier by my brother, it appeared that several infamous but never arrested and totally unconnected criminals had left America and set sail for our fair shores, in total seven men had been recruited by some unknown power and the word on the street in New York amongst other places was that someone had taken it upon themselves to build an army to rival that of any police force in the modern world...that evil in a way was about to declare war on all that was good and just in such a fashion that had never been witnessed before. .

Had this occurred a few years before I would have known without even reading the document that Professor James Moriarty was behind it all...but he and his men were all either dead or locked behind bars for the rest of their miserable lives.

But who would have the gall, the nerve and the money to amass a new model army of crime and why in London of all places.

So it was this "bloodhound" that was to assist both Scotland Yard and myself with this new case at hand the apprehension of those that had been colourfully dubbed The Faceless Men by the New York Police Bureau and our very own Scotland Yard.

This was enough to arouse my interest once more and to my shame push all thoughts of Watson to the back of my mind. I have let it be known that I have usually gotten along with our American cousins and when Mrs Hudson knocked on the sitting room door late that afternoon to announce not only them but my brother I was feeling at ease in a way that I had not felt since Watson had been shot.

"Mycroft, do come in...and I see you have the two Americans with you"

I will admit as they followed my brother in that my eyes did grow quite wide if only for a moment. In a way I had been expecting something all together different.

"Sherlock, if I might introduce..Dr Albert Percival and Detective Sergeant Mark Lucas both of the New York Police Bureau"

"Mr Holmes sir, it is a pleasure to meet the man Wilson speaks so highly of" Dr Percival extended his hand and I shook it, slightly surprised by the firmness of his grip, the tell-tale sign of an ex-military man.

Dr Albert Percival was a rather rotund man of middle years with what could only be described as having a rather jovial face surrounded by greying hair but it was his eyes that spoke volumes, as they told of many a witnessed horror. His voice gave away both his heritage and area of birth.

"Ah...a man of the south and a veteran of the civil war, how terrible that must have been to see such a bloody war at a young age, I hope you have had relaxing few days in this great metropolis despite the coldness of the weather"

Dr Percival managed a slight if not pained smile, "War Mr Holmes is never a pleasant business, less so if you find yourself on the loosing side and yes we have enjoyed being simple sightseers before getting down to business, your brothers club is most interesting"

"And worst still it must be my dear doctor if those around you accuse you of being traitorous to the cause due to you caring for all wounded regardless of their background or creed"

Dr Percival took a step back as I spoke, a look of shock on his slowly reddening face.

"How did you know?"

His companion..Detective Sergeant Lucas took a protective step forward and glared at me, his deep voice finally breaking the silence.

"How dare you speak like that to Al...why I got a good mind to teach you some manners Mr Private Detective"

The man looked ready for a right, one I was not wanting for as much as I am skilled at boxing and baritsu this giant of a man would have had no problems beating me to a pulp plus the touch of callousing on his knuckles told me that he was not afraid to get into a fist fight, his lack of scarring an obvious sign that he was well skill but then I doubt many men would even be able to reach his face or get beyond his reach.

For you see Detective Sergeant Lucas was no small man at just a little under seven feet tall, and dare I say he appeared almost as wide. Never have I met a taller gentleman, his entire frame had filled the doorway as he ducked when he entering my rooms at Baker Street.

"You must forgive my brother gentlemen, he has a gift or curse for noticing the smallest of details and unfortunately lacks at times the tact needed in knowing when to stop"

Now it was my turn to glare at my own brother.

"Mycroft...I do not need anyone to apologise for me"

"So Mr Sherlock Holmes, tell me about myself" Detective Sergeant Lucas smirked.

There are at times when I find myself full of what can only be described as devilry and the manner of this policeman irked me, no doubt Watson would say at this point that we had gotten off on the wrong foot.

"Now where to begin..you are of Irish decent your family arriving in America probably in the early part of the present century, you are proud of your heritage and yet you choose to go by your mothers maiden name rather than your fathers due to his betrayal of the family. You were born in the south probably in what was commonly called the Republic of Texas but raised in the north probably by an older sibling, hence your curiously soft spoken manner..rather unusual for a true native of New York. You are fond of fighting and have repeatedly been taken to task over your attitude and methods. Despite your loyalty to your mother, you distrust women which is the result of your mother..."

"Sherlock, is this really necessary..you have proved your point" admonished my older brother as he interrupted me.

Mark Lucas, had as I spoke turned his back to me, his huge body was quivering with a slow burning rage. Dr Percival went to his fellow American and placed a hand on the younger mans back, in an almost fatherly way.

"Mark" the huge man did not respond apart from shrugging the other away "Detective Sergeant Lucas?"

When the giant finally spoke all emotion was drained from his voice.

"I think it would be best if you dealt with Mr Holmes yourself Al...I fear if I stay I would only end up in more trouble with the boss and Mr Mycroft here"

It was then that it struck me that under normal circumstances that Watson would have put a stop to my obviously painful course of observation, that I had not only offended him but caused him to be deeply hurt.

"Detective Lucas..you must forgive me...I've been under a lot of strain lately and I can assure you that I meant no harm"

Mark Lucas turned slowly, the moistness around his eyes betrayed the tears of both anger and sorrow at he had been fighting.

"How, did you know about my past?" his voice was almost a whisper.

"Your surname is not Irish in origin, Scots maybe but not Irish..plus I will admit that Hargreave sent me a little file with some details on you both, though I would have been able to deduce both your pasts as we spoke" I handed over the papers Hargreave had sent me.

Detective Sergeant Lucas flicked through them and slowly looked up at me

"This is all well and good Mr Holmes but there is no mention of my family here..only my professional career in the police force and even then some of it isn't quite correct"

Dr Percival raised an eyebrow, "Wilson made mistakes?"

"Well no Al, but he didn't explain the full details of what happened down at the docks..just that I levelled the building"

Percival laughed, "Well...you did level the building if I recall"

While all this was going on Mycroft had gone over to the brandy decanter and poured four rather generous glassfuls.

"Here you go gentleman..a little amends to clear the slate if you will..and dare I say it, seasons greetings to us all"

I groaned at the reminder that it was Boxing Day but acknowledged the toast.

"Did he really collapse a building" I asked smiling, hoping to make amends for my rudeness.

Dr Percival said nothing but grinned wide, while Lucas rolled his eyes and knocked back the brandy and coughed as his face became flushed.

"Oh wow..that's some strong stuff you got there Mr Holmes"

"It's not mine really, it's Watson's...he has it for patients or clients that might need a little pick me up"

"We heard about the incident in the park..terrible news...how is he?" Dr Percival asked, his voice tinged with concern.

I looked down and sighed heavily "As well as can be expected, the whole thing is a damned-able slow process"

"You mean to tell me Sherlock that you have not visited him since that day I finally dragged you out of there, damn it man that was a week ago" I could tell my brother was disappointed in my lack of common courtesy to my close friend.

"I was planning on visiting him but I find it hard, Mycroft... it is intolerable that I am powerless to do anything to help him".

"It's never easy to see close friends or family suffer" Lucas interjected. "Before you go visit him later tonight have you had the details on why I'm accompanying Al..I mean Dr Percival"

"Yes it appears there is to be a joint investigation between Scotland Yard and your Bureau, that it appears several well known and yet unidentified criminals are joining together for as yet unknown dark purpose"

_Elsewhere at the same time  
><em>A small lithe figure crept along the wall, this in itself would not have been that unusual except for the fact they they were not atop the wall but actually on it, crawling like some lizard or beetle their movements were slow and deliberate but then no doubt they wished to avoid the fall to the street below one considering the height of the window they slowly approached any fall would prove to be fatal.

Many had broken out of prison over the years but not many had broken in.

They perched n the window sill for the briefest of moments before vanishing into the darkness and from view.

_Back at Baker Street_  
>Both Detective Sergeant Lucas and my brother soon brought me up to speed on the case and details that had not been included in the file Mycroft had handed me earlier, while both Dr Percival and myself listened on intently.<p>

"So apart from these criminals from the States, you also believe that some from the continent are being recruited and sent here and that you are also wondering if the few strange break-ins are connected to it all Mycroft?"

I looked down at a rather unusual statement from a witness to one of the break-ins.

"Eyes, without a face" was all that the man kept repeating.

"What a peculiar thing to say" muttered Mycroft as he glanced at his pocket watch "I fear you won't be able to visit Watson tonight, it's gotten late..and I have to be up early, the Home Minister is expecting me first thing"

With those words we all parted agreeing to meet up again the next day, after I had finally visited Watson.

In the all too brief visitation that I managed to bring myself to do in-between this work for Mycroft I came to note that while he was still trapped in that comatose state he to me at least did look a little more flushed with colour and his face a little less shallow. The matron had kept her word and dutifully read to him every evening without fail, so much that she had finished the sea novel and was now reading something that her late husband had liked.

I sat and talked to Watson like he was just laying there listening to my every word, I told him how Christmas at Baker Street had not been the same without him and that I had been forced to spend some time hidden away at the Diogenes Club for everyone despite my wishes began treating the whole affair very much like one long wake.

How they all came to visit me in dribs and drabs and offered their sorrow and sympathy at your predicament and yet I am told that only Lestrade and Shiltern actually visited you at the hospital after I had left and that the young Inspector upon seeing you still laying there had broken down in tears and begged for your forgiveness. Worse still Shiltern had been discovered a few days later at his lodgings unconscious on the floor of his bedroom the victim of brain-fever...he has been placed on the sick list until he recovers.

As for this new case, I knew that Watson would find it interesting to hear of The Faceless Men and that no doubt in time he would use that very same name for some tale for his eager reading public.

Finishing my narrative I stood slowly and looked down at Watson only to see his eyes flutter and his top lip quiver.

As god is my witness..I have never ran so fast nor shouted so loudly as I yelled for a doctor.

"_Thank-goodness_" I thought to myself "_Watson is waking up, now that is a Christmas gift, I will gladly accept"_


	6. Chapter 6

_I would like to thank people for the feedback. it is nice to know my efforts are appreciated ...just a short chapter to fill in some background  
><em>

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><p><strong>Case of the Faceless Men: Chapter Six<strong>

**Interlude**

_M__orning after the shooting  
><em>There was a hard knock at the door and a tall and somewhat frail looking man looked up from the pile of papers and sat back in his winged chair so that his face was hidden amongst the many shadows cast by the numerous candles that had been placed around the room. Heavy drapes sort to block out the early morning sun, making the whole room seem like a cave or was it a mausoleum

"Ah, Sergeant-Major Blood...I take it that all went smoothly, from what little I saw, it would appear that Calderny was successful and that Dr John Watson is now very much dead"

The well built man who had just entered the room, removed his bowler hat, saluted and walked over to the desk.

"Aye you'd be right there sir, a single shot just like you requested, followed by another once he was away...tis strange what a man will do to protect his own" Reginald Blood smiled, not at all unsettled by the darkness or the man in the room.

"And the warehouse?"

Blood laughed "You should 'ave seen the look on the coppers faces when that place went up like kindling, I saw to the placement of the explosive myself sir...didn't want the lads inside to discover it while they was waiting for the meeting to start" he stroked his chin thoughtfully "You can never thrust those Yankee boys to not pry..." he went to continue but stopped himself, his brow furrowed.

"Pray Reginald...do continue"

"Well, I can't work it out see, I mean why bring em all the way over ere just to kill em"

The other man laughed..it was a rather strange laugh, so empty and reptilian in nature.

"That is why Sergeant-Major Blood, you are a most trusted soldier and I am the leader of men"

"Sir?"

"They were the bait, and now my traps are all sprung"

"I have the unique opportunity to rid myself of several annoyances, one matter is purely personal the other a matter of business etiquette"

The man in the chair leaned forward the scars on his face..or rather what remained of his face were clearly visible the rest hidden beneath a mask but Sergeant Blood took no heed of the disfigurement.

"Mark Lucas should have accepted my offer when he had the chance. He not only refused it but proceeded to shut down my new operations in the city of New York and thus forcing me to return to England and so I will bring his rather colourful career to an end"

The man stood and circled his desk slowly so that he was stood before his trusted soldier.

"As for the personal business, well you know all about that don't you Reginald. While the Colonel was a good man he made mistakes, got careless and you the leader of my Faceless men, have always been the most loyal and trustworthy..if a trifle bloodthirsty at times"

"Thank you sir...I try my best..as for the bloodthirsty nature...well with a name and kin like mine" he laughed

"Quite so, now I want you to start recruiting again, remember only the best and there is this matter of this unseen burglar who has reappeared find out who he is and what we can use to bring him into the fold. Oh and Reginald, I have a personal request for you and you alone"

"Of course sir"

The older man said nothing but raised his only visible eyebrow as his features hardened

"Lord Guy de Morrel, terminate him, his close family and those immediately beneath his command, I grow tired of his overly familiar tones. Having the carriage drive past the scene of the crime was a gross misjudgement that will not go unpunished, I deplore misplaced overconfidence and arrogance"

Sergeant-Major Blood nodded "Very well Sir and what about Calderny's wife I mean, his widow. Would you like for me to deliver the payment for his services and inform her that all debts are now cleared?"

The man leant forward so that the Sergeant-Major could feel his breath on his own skin,

"What...payment, I do not recall promising such to her, it is unfortunate that Mr Calderny cannot collect his fee himself. I do have it here waiting for him" The speaker reached over his desk and produced a pouch filled with coins. " By the way Blood, nice touch having him fire upon the constables".

"I thought you would like that sir, it gets rid of any loose ends, especially now that Morrel is for the chop"

"Yes it does and Blood, you may consider Mrs Calderny a gift for your continued sterling work, do with her what you will Reginald"

Reginald Blood started to grin, a vile wicked smile that revealed his true callous nature.

With that the older man went back to his chair and returned his attention to the papers.

"You may go Sergeant-Major, do not let me detain you from the work you enjoy so much"


	7. Chapter 7

Again thank you all so much for the feedback...it is good to know you are all liking this so far

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><p><strong>Case of the Faceless Men: Chapter Seven<strong>

**Bloodhound on the Scent**

_Well it would appear it's my turn to add a little something to this tale to fill in the gaps from early on in the whole business. If I can even remember that far back, you gotta pardon me if my English ain't all fancy like Sherlock's or Doc Watson's, I'm a plain speaking honest man so here goes and I can promise you as God is my witness all that what I'm about to tell you is the truth – Detective Inspector Mark Lucas NYPB-CID Division_

First of all I will admit straight off the bat that I wasn't exactly thrilled at having to accompany Al Percival to merry old England. I might have only been a humble Detective Sergeant back then but through hard work I'd not long busted a whole gang wide open and hopefully had sent most of the villainous members to the gallows or to face such a jail sentence that meant they would be very old men before they got released and yet I knew there was more to it. So you can imagine having to babysit my old friend in a foreign country wasn't high on my list of priorities at that time but Hargreave insisted on me accompany Al, something about it might be healthy for me to leave the country until the gang was behind bars or standing before a much higher court, if you get my drift. But I shouldn't be too harsh considering I met my future wife Rosie over there in London so I guess it all turned out all right in the end.

Now winters in New York City can be damned harsh but for some reason I had never felt so cold as I did when we finally reached London, the trip across the Atlantic had taken a little over a week even on our steamer due to adverse weather conditions and the blanket of snow that greeted us when we landed in England did little to cheer me up, never before had I felt so damned lonely. For me it was bad enough to be away from home when I knew I had work to finish up but orders are orders, so what could I do except follow them even though I wasn't too clear on what my orders where..apart from that all would be explained once I reached London.

So all this secrecy coupled with being here in a land were I knew no one but my travelling companion and occasional colleague added with the fact that it was the season of good will, well it all combined to make my heart heavy and if I'm honest about myself I am prone to morose moods when troubled.

First we settled in the hotel that had been allocated to us, I will admit that did surprise me for it was a modest but comfortable place..must have been costing the Police Bureau a pretty penny but considering we had no idea how long are stay was gonna be, it made sense that we should at least be comfortable.

After a day of just resting we were met the next morning by a gentleman who's name I don't recall and he took us to Scotland Yard. I can tell you now that the sight of ol Al and myself striding through that building fair made me chuckle and helped a little to lift my spirits, it was a shame that wasn't to last.

We were escorted into an office tucked away and sat behind some huge desk was a huge man, I mean Percival was no small guy and I'm the tallest man I know but this guy appeared to dwarf us both, I think it was as much to do with his manner as his girth.

He introduced himself as Mycroft Holmes and passed me a bundle of papers that were marked for my eyes only and written by Hargreaves own hand. I got to admit the whole business unsettled me, I don't care for sneaking about, hell with my height it's not exactly possible. So I sat down and began to read them, the look on my face must have given them both cause for concern.

"Nothing wrong, I hope Lucas" asked Dr Albert Percival.

Mr Holmes had just sat back in his chair and had his eyes fixed on me, almost as if he was reading the documents by simply reading my reactions.

I paused and looked over to Al, "No...and yes...damn I just knew it" My brow winkled and furrowed as I glanced to both of the men sat with me.

"You know about this Mr Holmes?"

No sooner had I asked him that, I realised just what a dumb question it was, of course he knew...he looked the type that knew everything about everyone without being arrogant or big-headed about it.

"It was brought to my attention Detective Lucas"

I let the slip in my rank slide and gave a heavy sigh. "You know, if these men are over here..you got problems. Hell we couldn't catch them in the States..what makes you think you can over here?"

Mycroft Holmes gave a very brief smile and tilted his head slightly as he spoke quietly.

"Because my dear sir, we have the advantage...we have not only you here but" he paused and rolled his eyes and sighed a little before continuing "We have my brother Sherlock"

"Sherlock..as in Sherlock Holmes, the consulting detective?" Al asked, then went red as it dawned on him that he was in fact talking to Sherlock's older brother.

"I must appear so stupid...forgive me" he blurted out.

Mycroft Holmes just waved his hand dismissing my colleagues embarrassment.

"I am not so well known out of the Governmental circles and that is how I prefer it"

I leant forward "I don't see how you having me here is an advantage, sure I was after a few of these guys and I have a few theories that I never had chance to follow up on but therein lies the problem sir no one alive knows what anyone of them look like. All we got is vague descriptions that could fit anyone...cannot base a case on vagueness need hard facts and proof, if only Hargreave hadn't sent me over here..I would at least have been able to check out some of my theories".

Mycroft looked at me puzzled for a moment " But you can test out your theories here Detective, you at least know their methods and vices and a vague description is better than none at all"

Mycroft Holmes stood slowly and moved so he was before his desk and looked at me with an intensity that I would soon come to recognise as a family trait.

"What I am about to tell you is knowledge that is not privy to anyone but myself and an agent of mine. So I must ask you both to keep it between the three of us"

We both nodded "Sure thing Mr Holmes, I wont tell a soul"

"A few weeks ago, my brother and Dr Watson were assisting Scotland Yard in a case trying to locate a rather vile individual, I have reason to believe that this man was acting as a liaison with the American imports..they had managed to isolate his location to a warehouse in the East End of London..near Limehouse to more accurate".

I couldn't help but grin at this news "Then sir, we have somewhere to start looking at least"

Mycroft Holmes shook his head and a touch of sorrow crossed it.

"Unfortunately that is not the case, the place was destroyed by arson and this man has slipped through the net once more...even worse is the fact that there is a chance that several of your Americans friends were in the building when it went up in flames".

"And the other news Mr Holmes, I'm sure that alone didn't cause you to look so pained sir " Al asked before I could.

"Not long before the explosion, while on the way to the warehouse in question, Dr John Watson was shot in the head by a minor criminal, an act my brother believes was a deliberate assassination attempt and a lightly veiled threat aimed at himself" he paused briefly "Do not worry though the good doctor still lives but lays in a coma, again I ask you to keep this news to yourselves...I have managed to keep his condition and location a strict secret from our esteemed press and the journalistic bloodhounds".

I was too busy thinking of all what I had read and what Mycroft had told me to take any real notice of what he was telling us both.

"Back in New York" I interjected "I had reason to believe that someone was gathering men of great skill together..crimes were becoming more organised, polished if a little more ruthless in a way I'd not seen before and that the current case I am, sorry was working on..that is just but one facet of something bigger.

"That would indeed correlate to my own findings Detective Sergeant, I can see why Wilson Hargreave speaks so highly of you"

I stood up and looked at Mycroft Holmes, something having caught my attention.. "Now you ain't no policeman, you ain't even an old war horse...so what are you...some kind of politician...I don't take too kindly to being played for a fool Mr Holmes"

Mycroft Holmes showed his obvious displeasure at my tone and inference.

"No Mr Lucas, I am not a politician, though I do know how to play that game if needed...I am but a humble civil servant of her Glorious Majesties Government"

"Is that so sir...so why is a humble civil-servant using the office of the Deputy Assistant Commissioner of Scotland Yard as if it were his own?"

Mycroft Holmes said nothing but let out a hearty laugh.

"Ah well spotted sir and in answer to your question because my dear detective, it is far easier to hide someone even as tall as you in plain sight than it is to try and surreptitiously conceal the fact that you are both here. As you are perfectly aware Dr Percival is here to exchange knowledge with our forensic department and you are his mere travelling companion...or would you rather it be common knowledge that you are once again on the trail of what your own Police Bureau dubbed the Faceless Men"

I sank back in my chair and raised my hands. "OK you got me, so now what?"

"Now I propose to invite you both to my club for a spot of luncheon"

"That sounds like a splendid idea Mr Holmes" Al grinned.

I shook my head, "Thanks but that ain't my kinda thing...though I fancy a bite to eat and maybe a taste of what passes for beer in a local inn, yep I think that might go down a treat...if you get my meaning"

Al looked at Mycroft Holmes and shrugged, "Do not mind him Mr Holmes, Lucas isn't one to sit around doing nothing..not when he's caught the hint of a scent"

Mycroft chuckled "Ah, a man after my own brother, I shall take you both to see him once things are more settled with Dr Watson. I'm afraid that right now, Sherlock's mind is not where it should be"

As he spoke he was busy writing on a slip of paper which he passed over to me.

"A list of public houses or inns if you prefer that may be of interest to you Detective Sergeant Lucas, the East End is littered with them and other establishments of dubious and somewhat shady interests. No doubt a young man like yourself would find such places entertaining as well as informative"

I must admit I grinned like a fool at the prospect of being able to see the famed or should I say infamous area that I had read so much about. The thought of being able to walk the very streets that the perpetrator of those terrible crimes back in '88 did indeed appeal to my natural curiosity.

Dr Albert Percival looked at me a little worriedly "Mark, you are armed I take it?"

"Always Al, never leave home without a little something in my pocket"

Mycroft nodded "Please do be careful, people have a terrible habit of vanishing in that vast melting pot of humanity"

"By the way sir...what kind of dubious establishments are you talking about" I asked him

Mycroft raised an eyebrow, having noticed my keen interest "Oh the usual, brothels, gambling and opium dens...if you have a vice sir, you can find a respite for it there"

"Then gentlemen, I shall go visit these forbidden delights that London as to offer a humble lad from America and who knows just maybe I'll get lucky"

A look of concern crossed my colleagues normally jovial features "That Mark is what worries me...your idea of fun usually entails brawling and dare I mention the levelling of buildings"

It was then that I thought it best to be on my way before Al started to tell Mycroft all about my little mishaps.

As I walked down the corridor the sound of their voices erupting into peels of laughter made my ears ring and caused various members of staff and the police to look at me questioningly.

All I knew was that somewhere in this vast city was the key to a puzzle and I intended to find it. I risked a quick glance at the paper Mycroft had given me and picked a random place on the list "The Punch Bowl" otherwise known as "Madame Rosie's Bowl of Forbidden Fruit", now that sounded as good a place as any to start my investigation and digging.

One thing was certain Al was right, I was on the scent and nothing was going to stop me not until I got to the bottom of it all.


	8. Chapter 8

**Case of the Faceless Men: Chapter Eight**

**Deep Thoughts and a Rescue**

My walk from Scotland Yard and through the centre of London was uneventful and rather boring, I took the time to take in some of the sights and since I was so close to so many notable buildings I allowed myself to play at being the visitor rather than a policeman on the trail of a possible scent.

Much like back home in New York I could not help but noticed the ever growing line between the rich and the poor.

The fine buildings of the government and the members of society slowly giving way to those of the passer-by..with their fine shops, museums, and theatres. The grand hotels and even grander restaurants offering a glimpse of a life that an average man like myself could never afford then came the commercial area that stretched out its fingers like a giant hand that held the very heart of our great cities in it's midst and yet these tendrils of commerce were dotted at times with residential lodgings.

The Strand had turned into Fleet Street, the home of the bane of the police force..the journalist and I could not help but drift slowly towards that rather infamous palace of correction called Newgate Prison, the final place for so many, such a dark and dreary place have I never seen before but then justice has to be a harsh mistress otherwise what would be the point..justice knows no class nor creed, be thee man or woman we should all bow to her.

_You must excuse me, as I had said I am prone to morose thoughts and while the thought of looking for a scrap of a clue in this strange city was attractive to me, I found that my walk had done nothing but remind me how far away from home I really was and that unlike those I often pursued I was allowed no rest. _

I took to my heels in an attempt to dispel the blackness I was slowly slipping under and soon wished I had paid more attention to where I was going, it was only a glimpse of the Tower of London in the distance that put me back on track for Lord knows where I was going and I would have felt a fool had I been forced to ask a passer-by for directions to Whitechapel and Limehouse beyond.

That's one good thing about being a policeman, the miles mean nothing to you and it wasn't long before I found myself stood looking up at that impressive remnant of a time long gone. From there I remembered the directions I had memorised the day before while sat in my hotel room for I had intended at some point to visit Whitechapel so I could see for myself those killing grounds of "Jack the Ripper"

I could see why Mycroft had warned me about the East End of London, as I stood on its very edge I felt a pulse, a rhythm to it that appealed to me. This wasn't a cesspool of humanity..this place with it's dank streets and multitude of voices was the true heart and soul of this city. Each man, woman and child ant like in providing for themselves and those in control.

So with a deep sigh and a slight smile on my face I started to wander the streets, listening always listening for anything that might be of use..while my eyes took in all that appeared before me.

As I walked I saw ladies of pleasure plying their trade, sometimes they openly entertained their clients for all to see, others took to side streets, doorways and dark alleys in order to earn a penny. I wonder if any of them had even ceased their trade while "Jack" had hunted these streets.

Men and women with barrows full of goods so varied all vied for attention all the while grimy faced youngsters hovered trying to get you to buy what little they held in their hands.

What is it about being this poor that appears to rob life of its colour and yet despite the drabness of it all, I had never heard so much laughter. Stopping I closed my eyes for a moment and I could have been stood back home...the smells and sounds were so similar.

Yes, I could so easily forget myself in this place.

"_DAMN IT._.._You need to stop thinking too much and get on with the work_" I chided myself.

The sound of church bells cut through the noise of the streets as they sounded out the hours or called people to prayer. Just to prove that god has a sense of humour at that moment the skies darkened a little and sleet began to fall.

I turned up the collar of my coat and plunged my hands into my pockets and decided to head straight for this "Punch Bowl" rather than just meander the streets.

While walking through a small market area I had spotted a young rather nervous looking young girl that was attempting to sell matches and candles to passers-by, normally I would have just walked on but it was her accent that froze me to the spot.

"Matches sir?" she held out a trembling hand.

"You are along ways from home girl..I'd recognise a fellow New Yorker anywhere" I said softly as I took the box and paid her a half-penny.

She paled and gasped as she heard my own unmistakeable accent.

"Oh good god" her lip quivered and for a second I thought she was about to faint but she rallied and nodded. "Came over with my father sir a few months back but he walked out over a week ago and I haven't seen nor heard from him since"

"Did you report it?" I asked as I looked her over, I would put her age at little more than 14.

"No, he told me not to talk to anyone..that he would know if I had" she suddenly went quiet "I shouldn't be talking to you now, least I get a thrashing when he gets home again"

My displeasure at the thought of any man taking his anger out on a child must have shown up clearly on my face and she tried to move away.

"Are you hungry..child?" I already knew the answer to that question, but still I had to ask anything to get her not to flee.

"Yes"

"Well then..miss.." I paused hoping for a name

"Alyssa, Alyssa W-" she just stopped herself from giving away her full name so I smiled

"Well Alyssa, there is a pie stall over there why don't I buy us both a little something to eat.

"OK" she nodded "But I ain't like some of the other ladies on this street..I sell matches and candles and that is it" she emphasised the last few words.

I bowed my head "I wasn't looking for anything else, just it's nice to see a fellow American hereabouts and I was feeling kinda homesick"

Alyssa patted my arm in a friendly manner, " It's not that different to New York especially the closer you get to the docks"

Having bought the pies we took refuge under the entrance to a church and I watched her devour her food in record time, so having broken my own pie in half I handed the other over and chuckled as she first blushed then tucked into that.

"What does your father do?" I tried to make the question sound innocent enough but the damage was done and she stood up quickly

"Nothing..nothing you need to know about sir"

"The name is Lucas, Mark Lucas...I was hoping I could you help find him"

I'm not sure why she took off suddenly but she did and I raced after her, surely she didn't know me..or worse still did she know of me.

The crowds in the market were so thick that I barely noticed that she had slipped down a half hidden alleyway but I did notice two rather dodgy looking characters nod to each other and follow close after her. By the time I had reached the alley, they had already had her on the floor..one was kicking at her torso while the other punched her in the face.

"Now giv us ya money darlin'...or we will 'ave to take payment in kind, you and your kind needs to pay us or things might 'appen see"

I let out a roar of anger and grabbed the one who was kicking her and threw him violently against the wall, the impact dropped him and he laid still. The other stood and grinned his blackened teeth visible.

"Oh...someone wants to play the 'ero" as he wildly swung for me.

I easily dodged his fist and let loose with a punch of my own straight to his head which caused him to stagger back against the wall, I risked a quick glance down at the young girl and was relieved to see that she was at least alive if not a little bruised and terrified. That momentary distraction was enough for my opponent to land a vicious blow to my midriff and I winced then swung a little too wildly and growled as my knuckles met the rough surface of the brick wall behind him.

Once again he tried to land a hay-maker but I reached out and grabbed him by the throat and lifted him clean off the floor, memories of my own younger sister clouded my judgement as I started to squeeze the life from him.

It was only the intervention of his comrade that saved his life as he took my legs from under me and we all crashed to the floor.

"Let's get outta 'ere Col...bitch ain't worth it...n 'e wont be around 'er all the time"

Gasping a little I looked over to Alyssa and the fear on her face was apparent, I started to crawl over to her to tend to her wounds but she kicked out at me catching my cheek and cutting it cleanly with the heel of her boot. Then scampering to her feet she took off only getting a few yards before she froze on the spot and looked back...I will never forget that look of uncontrollable panic upon her face.

A shadowy figure had dropped down from above and took a step towards her, reaching out as it did so to touch Alyssa. All this was too much for her and she collapsed in a heap at the feet of this new assailant.

"Did he touch you?" the slim shadowy figure asked the match-seller as he helped her back to her feet.

"No... I don't know..it happened so fast" her voice was hesitant due to the shock of the attack she'd just gone through.

The next thing I saw was the glint of a long blade held in the young mans hand

"What's your game mister" as he turned his attention to me, his grip tightened around the handle and I knew I was in for another fight, a far more serious one.

"I don't play games, boy!" I straightened myself up, doing my best to look bigger than I already was hoping that I could at least avoid harming this lad too much.

"Some thugs jumped her..tried to steal what little money she has..something about payment"

As I spoke he closed the gap between us both keeping mostly to the shadows until I could see that he must haven been no older than Alyssa herself.

The slim almost frail looking young man had his head tilted to one side and his eyes narrowed in concentration as he listened to my explanation, a sign of obvious deafness. Something I could and would use to my advantage should this progress as I feared it might

"I simply frightened them off after a little ass whooping and scared your friend too it would appear"

But my words were literally falling on deaf ears though I can now see why he thought I'd attacked her, her face was bruised and bloody and her obvious fear of me coupled with the fact that I had blood on my hand from where I had narrowly missed one of the ruffians and hit the brickwork cleanly removing the skin from my knuckles would be damning under the scrutiny of the law.

"I don't likes it when coves like you pick on my friends". As he spoke his stance shifted, could I risk pulling my gun against nothing more than a boy who was after all only protecting someone.

"What's wrong with yer...one o the ladies turn you down so you had to take what you couldn't get"

At that insinuation I growled, my short temper getting the best of me once again.

"You dare boy...why I got a good mind to teach you the same lesson I taught those others who thought they could take me on"

It was then that the young girl, grabbed the sleeve of her knight in rather shabby armour and begged him to stop

"No...Billy, you gots it all wrong, I remember now..my head is clear"

So that was his name..Billy, now if only he'd step into the light some more I'd have a face I could put to it.

"What you saying Aly?"

In my haste to see the young lad clearly, I took a step forward only to find that he was indeed as fleet footed as he was lithe and had closed the gap so that the tip of his blade was pressing hard against my skin through my clothes.

"You move any more mister ...and I'll cuts you wide open like the pig you is" he hissed at me through clenched teeth.

It took all my will-power to restrain myself from either fighting back or pulling my pistol and shooting him dead, after all it would be classed as self-defence.

Instead I contented myself with memorising every feature of his face..the thin delicate lips and nose, his dark hair and unusually thin eyebrows. His fine moustache and beard, the violet blue eyes were rather unique and haunting and the scar that ran down his right cheek were all catalogued and stored away for future reference, but then I noticed the other dreadful scarring that ran from his right ear and down his neck and no doubt beyond, the lad had at some point been horribly burnt and yet had survived.

But there was something else bothering me about him, if only I could place what it was.

The young girl once again grabbed his arm and turned him slightly but not enough for me to even think of being able to disarm him without his pressing home that blade.

"Billy please...I'm fine now"

I had recognised the coldness to his eyes and prepared myself for the worst. For what seemed like a lifetime we three were frozen in time then something happened that I would never have expected.

This young girl Alyssa having seen the look on her friends face and no doubt having also come to the decision that he had indeed planned to run me through with his knife, grabbed at him once more only this time turning his head so that she could kiss him fully on the lips.

It was if the lad had been struck by lightening, his eyes grew wide and he stumbled back half a step and yet the young girl did not let him go as she once again smothered his lips with her own.

"I know you care about us all Billy, and we are grateful you know that..lets go and I can thank you properly".

His face was a picture of pure horror at not only her words but her actions but was she offering to thank him in order to save me or to save them both.

"G-get away from me" he gasped as he finally pulled from her embrace "Don't touch me..no one touches me"

The look of sheer panic on his face made me fear for the young girls safety should he blindly lash out, whatever haunted him was indeed a powerful nightmare and one that still held him firm in its grasp.

In the effort to get totally free from his friend he had pushed her hard and she stumbled but I was quick enough to save her from yet another vicious fall.

"I got you girl" I whispered as I held her close as the shock of the events took hold and she began to sob in my arms.

This Billy on the other-hand glared at me like I was the most vile thing he had ever seen then his eyes fell upon his friend and he looked for a moment torn not sure if he should comfort her or flee, he finally chose the latter and raced off.

I made what I hoped was the correct soothing sounds and held her close until her sobs died then with my handkerchief I did my best to clear away not only her tears but the touch of blood from her face.

"There, much better but I think we both need to be out of this chilled air..I'm looking for a place...don't suppose you know it?"

Alyssa managed to smile "Thank you, but don't think too bad of Billy, he's a good lad...keeps an eye on the girls and 'elps folks bit like a Robin 'ood to us he is" Her accent slipping into a strange mix of New York and London.

She reached up and wiped some muck from my own face and god help me but her touch felt so warm that I knew I must have blushed for she looked down before continuing.

"I'll help you if I can..where is it you are looking for?"

I coughed and reminded myself that this girl was young enough to be my own daughter should any woman ever be foolish enough to marry me let alone have a child by me. And while it wasn't frowned upon to lay with a young woman, it was something I felt uneasy about and thus vowed never to do.

"I'm looking for an inn..it's called The Punch Bowl, I've been there before just I got a little lost...do you know it?" I hoped the lie wasn't too obvious.

Alyssa grinned then chuckled, "Know it...who doesn't know of it around these parts, I'll take you there Mister Mark Lucas. I should have known you would be a customer of Madame Rosie's"


	9. Chapter 9

**Case of the Faceless Men: Chapter Nine**

**Bemused, Bruised and Bewildered**

Alyssa smiled and chatted as she led me down various streets and alleyways until I was well and truly lost for much like the back streets of my beloved New York, the dark streets of Whitechapel even to unwary locals are at the best of times can be a little disorientating and at the worst a rat warren that leads to the grave.

All I knew as we slowed down for she had set quite the pace, was that to my right was a small square with a church but then I had had blurred memories of other squares with churches and that we had cut across the square and down a rather wide street that bent sharply before opening into another much smaller and dainty square and it was there that she stopped and pointed at the building. Before us stood an ornately and yet sombre decorated building with a slightly faded sign that read.

"The Punch Bowl"

I turned my head and starred at Alyssa for she was having quite the giggling fit

"What is wrong with you girl?" I asked her, puzzled by her amusement.

"You ain't ever been here before 'ave you Mr Lucas?"

"I told you I have, but I forgot where it was that is all" I think the fact that I not only hurried out my words but that I knew that yet again my blushing gave me away.

"It's okay, everyone has heard about this place and it's secret...that's if Madame Rosie lets you into the other part" she winked as she finished speaking.

"This other part...why is it so special?"

Her laughter increased to the point that the few people in this cul-de-sac turned and looked.

"Oh my word...I got to tell Sally and Emmie about you...they will eat you alive" she paused and looked up at me "Thank you for helping me back there in the alley, you didn't 'ave to do that. A lot of folks would 'ave walked on by and left me too my fate but, he really wouldn't 'ave hurt you...Billy ain't like that..not really"

I thought it best just to nod in agreement "Won't you come in, your face needs cleaning up and I could buy you...a"

I'd noticed a large built but woefully short elderly woman come from the building next to this public house and she hurriedly headed straight for us.

"Alyssa Wayne...Wha e'er 'ave you been up to.. 'ere wot this cove done to you girl"

Her gaze bore into me as she turned Alyssa's head and checked both the wound and bruising on her cheek as well as her torn clothing.

"He saved me Grammy...some of Ned's thugs took to beating on me" Alyssa quickly replied in my defence.

I removed my hat and introduced myself.

"I'm Mark Lucas ma'am, from New York, I'm visiting London on business for a while and well as luck would have it, I happened to make the acquaintance of Miss Alyssa here at the most fortunate time for us both"

"Ooh, you is a flowery talker ain't ya, well both come inside The Bowl and we will git you cleaned up girl..then you'd better take yurself 'ome" She looked at me and whispered "And maybe we can slip you into next door..as a thank you"

She grinned wide revealing a rather empty mouth but never the less the overall effect put me finally at some ease

"Just this once like..next time..you pays" she whispered conspiratorially more to my waistband than to my face.

"Oh Grammy can I have a word?" Alyssa gestured frantically to the older woman

I stood watching wondering what else was about to happen and then I slowly began to feel most uncomfortable for as they both spoke they would shoot me odd glances as they whispered.

"What, lil Billy is back out" the old woman gasped then grinned more than ever "Oh that is good news, the girls always feels safer when they know he's on the prowl"

"Shhh" Alyssa begged and lowered her voice but not enough to stop me from over hearing the rest of what she was saying

"He seemed different Grammy, more nasty..not like him not from what you told me, no ma'am not like him at all"

"Well if the rumour be true, I'll not blame the lad. Tis a long time to be in the clink, that's for sure and well you knows what it did to my dear departed Artie, God rest his bleeding thieving soul. He came out an went an hanged himself only after a couple of weeks cos he couldn't handle it..being back 'ere and free"

The old woman, I knew only as Grammy took what I believed to have been a rather tatty lace handkerchief and wiped the tears from her eyes.

"They gets used to the, darn it..what's the word" she paused and rather disconcertingly started grinding her gums as she thought of the word she wanted...that is one sight and sound I knew I would have a hard time forgetting

"Oh..that's the word regimey...they gets use to the regimey and all...well an if he weren't in prison that only leaves Bethlehem and such like...and Alyssa my girl...I dunno what would be worse for a young un like Billy. Being honest I'd top myself rather than spend a night in that kinda hell-hole let alone years, if you ain't mad going in...you soon will be"

I found this Grammy's thick London accent to be interesting and it took me a little while to work out she in fact meant regime when she said regimey and so the pieces slowly came together, this Billy was obviously well known to the local "ladies of the night" and if what was being said was anything to go by he was thought of fondly by the ladies who worked the streets. Now Grammy had just let slip that he might have been in prison, that I must admit made me smile. Prisons keep records and I would soon have this lad tracked down and if I had to walk him back to the jail-house myself I would, no-one threatens my life and gets away with it.

Yes, my feathers were well and truly ruffled.

Alyssa came back over to me and took a hold of my arm and we both followed Grammy into the pub. If I am truthful I wasn't sure what to expect, the place was large deceptively so and divided into two parts with the bar cutting across the floor.

The front section looked much like any other bar I had ever seen, if a little more polished, with a door that led to what the English call a "Snug" off to one side. The clients were nothing unusual just the average working class man trying to enjoy a quiet pint. One thing that did strike me though, was the lack of "working" ladies for normally any bar especially in these types of area would at least have one or two ladies using their charms while attempting to drum up some custom, this place was devoid of such nuisance. Ladies of the night had their uses and not the one you are all thinking of, for a policeman they can be an invaluable source of information nothing much gets by them unnoticed.

I was led down the side of the bar and into the rear room which reminded me of the saloons I would be more likely to see out in the West, about a three-quarters of the floor space was taken up by tables and chair and across the far wall well hidden from the tap room was a low stage.

Grammy pointed to an empty table and both Alyssa and myself took a seat.

"Alyssa, you seen to know this place rather well. Why is it so special?"

At first she said nothing then she looked at me and gave a smile then said something that floored me.

"I knew you wasn't telling the truth before, so who are you after Detective Lucas"

I stood up suddenly and looked around, since it was still early this saloon area was fairly quiet but my reaction did cause the few there to turn and look at all the fuss.

"Sit down please, you aren't in any danger"

I mumbled an apology and looked at Alyssa intently as I weighed up my options.

"Yes, I am a detective with the NYPB...but how did you know?"

She blushed and put her hand deep inside her corset and removed my police badge from it's hiding place. I coughed and looked away out of common courtesy

"You had it in your inside pocket"

"You lifted my badge."

I looked at her open mouthed, at that moment Grammy returned with another woman, a tall, strong looking lady of roughly my own age with the most deep chocolate coloured eyes I had ever seen, dressed in a simple but elegant gown.

"Mr Lucas, I presume?" as she spoke she picked up my badge and gave it a quick cold glance over it before handing to me.

I stood and nodded then for some reason took her slightly extended hand and kissed the back of it, while my eyes took in her womanly curves.

"You have the advantage ma'am"

"I am the proprietress of these establishments, if you could be so kind as to release my hand Detective"

My mind was in such a whirl that I had forgotten I was holding her hand, what was wrong with me.

"So sorry, mind was elsewhere" was the rather pathetic reply I gave her

"I'm sure it was, you Americans seldom think of anything else in my experience" damn that voice of hers..so rich and so deliberately cold.

"So you are well experienced then"

I richly deserved the slap that was the reply to that foolish and rude comment. I knew that by now not only was every person in this saloon watching us all but the barman and a few from the front of house had taken a keen interest in what was going on.

Her blow had been that hard that my cheek still stung and I could feel the heat upon my face. Has she struck me I had dropped my fedora in shock and so the only thing I could do was to pick it up and take my leave.

Did I mentioned earlier...that I don't get on personally with women. Sure I desire them just like any hot-blooded man does, but when it comes to dealing with grown up women in a personal strictly non-police business way, I'm beyond clueless and have no tact or knowledge in how to deal with them.

I nodded to both Grammy and Alyssa, who bless her looked in shock and tried to leave only to have a large solid wall of humanity stop me. The next thing I knew a sizeable fist had struck my jaw knocking me clean off my feet and crashing luckily unto an empty table which promptly broke under my weight.

Now that was impressive, there are not that many people that have ever managed to knock me off my feet and I've been in quite a few fights but this guy did it with ease.

There comes a time when despite common sense screaming at you to stay down or better still, walk away. You don't, you ignore everything and throw caution to the wind. Hell I had just been threatened by some blade wielding ex-con, slapped by a woman I didn't even know and now to top it all some stranger had knocked me clean off my feet and damn near knocked me senseless.

With a roar of anger and built up frustration, I jumped to my feet and rushed the man who had struck me, only to find that he dodged my charge and deftly caught me one in the ribs, which I felt break., this didn't look good for me at all.

I staggered back, gasping and swung a little wildly for his head and to my surprise hit him squarely on the temple, knocking him to the floor. Determined not to let him get up I straddle his prone body and grabbed his hair ready to punch him when there was a loud crash as pain shot through my head, shoulders and upper back then I slumped forward my world darkened as someone turned out the lights.

I had no idea how long I had been out, but when I awoke my head ached and my shoulders felt stiff.

Instead of finding myself dumped in some God-forsaken alleyway, I was laid down on a chaise-longue in what looked to be a rather voluptuous bedroom.

"Is this your bedroom?" I rather hopefully inquired.

She chuckled "Heavens no...this is one of the girls rooms...I do not entertain guests in my own private chambers"

"I'm sorry about what happened Detective Lucas, but Grammy is rather overly protective of her lil boy"

"What hit me?" I mumbled as I fought to clear my vision, and what a vision sat before me.

"Grammy as I said, with the chair you had been sat on. And the name is Rosalind March, though I am more normally called Madame Rosie by folks hereabouts"

She extended her hand out to me and I raised an eyebrow

"You're not going to slap me again are you?"

Rosie March laughed and it was music to my ears. "No silly, and I didn't slap you before because you kissed my hand, I slapped you because you lacked manners"

She leant forward and dabbed at my face with a damp cloth and I felt a shiver go through my entire body.

"I'm sorry about that ma'am, I was thoughtless"

"So you should be and do not assume that just because I run a bordello and private gentleman's club that I am also a common prostitute"

"So were...I mean did you ever?" I stumbled over my words as she tended to my badly bruised face.

I forced my eyes closed not because I was in that much pain but because Rosie was now leaning across me and I was afraid of what I would see if I looked, though part of me was screaming at me to take a peek.

"I was, but I've enough on my hands running my "Bowl of Forbidden Fruit" as some like to call it and thank you for looking out for young Alyssa...so many would have taken advantage"

"It's not a problem, there was no way on earth I was going to stand by and let a young woman get accosted or worse"

I sat up rather slowly and Madame Rosie stood and watched me that faint relaxed smile fixed upon her ruby red lips

"There was a lad there, turned up afterwards...it would appear both Alyssa and Grammy know of him."

As I spoke her gaze grew colder..and the slight smile vanished.

"Did you get a name?" she asked me

"Billy...keen lad with a blade..well lets just say me and him have some talking to"

"I would like you to leave Mr Lucas...now" she interrupted me

I looked up at her confused

"Get out now!"

I staggered to my feet and grabbed my hat, patting down my pockets just to make sure nothing was missing. Decorum be damned, if this woman was going to treat me like this, why should I show her any courtesy.

_"Go to London..Mark..you will have a wonderful time. Just think of all the sights and that history, you like the history of crime..well then London is the place to go. You can look around while Albert swaps knowledge with their professors"_

Wilson Hargreave..so help me God, if it costs me my job...I am gonna take it out on your damn hide when I get back to to the bureau, if I survive this infernal city that is.

Without even saying goodbye to Madame Rosie I stormed out the best I could and pushed passed the folks that were in my way. Alyssa tried to run after me but I saw that Grammy held her back, shaking her head.

What the hell is going on here and why did I think that this Alyssa knew so much more than she was telling. She appeared awful friendly with those prostitutes, and yet she was only a child.

Torn between getting answers and rest I paused and gathered my wits about me.

Then heading for the nearest main thoroughfare I hailed a cab and the sharp pain in my ribs told me that rest was far more important, so I headed reluctantly back to the hotel but determined that the next day I not only would find out more about Miss Alyssa Wayne and her missing father but about Rosalind March and this ex-con Billy.


End file.
